Let's Have Dinner
by Moon Raven2
Summary: Cas is on the run with the angel tablet when he starts getting mysterious text messages with one common theme: Let's have dinner. Post 8x17 Megstiel sweetness.


**a/n: **Hi, kids! Herein you'll find almost entirely Megstiel fluff and sweetness, inspired by BBC Sherlock's "A Scandal in Belgravia." Dont worry if you haven't seen it or aren't a fan. You won't be lost; I promise.

Takes place after 8x17, so, yes. Spoilers.

* * *

**Thursday, 7am**  
Cas felt the small _ping_ in his pocket that meant his phone had something to say. He hoped it wasn't a voicemail. He hated voicemail. He fished the small device out and peered at it.

A text message. That was new. He fumbled with the buttons until the message finally displayed. Simple, one line.

-_Let's have dinner._

He blinked. The number had come through as unknown. He frowned down at the screen and typed back (laboring, his tongue trapped between his teeth),

-_Who is this?_

No answer. He waited. Nothing. The bus rolled on, and his phone remained silent. Must have been a wrong number. He dropped it back into his pocket with a little shrug and forgot about it.

**Saturday, 8pm**  
-_Let's have dinner._

-_Can't watching omvie. very confused._

A long pause.

-_Confused how?_

-_many things. 1: angels and bells are unrelated._

No answer.

**Tuesday, 1:20pm**  
-_I'm bored. Let's have dinner._

-_it's midafternoon._

-_I can wait. Can you?_

-_whois this?_

Silence.

**Friday, 6:02pm**  
-_It's raining, but I have no umbrella. Let's have dinner._

-_how are those 2 in anyway related?_

-_Does it matter?_

-_tell me who you rea._

-_Does it matter? Nemo._

He dropped the phone in frustration and refused to answer the next three bings.

**Wednesday, 8:41am**  
-_It's evening somewhere. Let's have dinner._

-_I hve no need to eat._

-_Doesn't mean you aren't hungry._

-_yes it does._

-_So much for double entendres._

He hesitated. Then,

-_this form of communicateion is limited._

_-Glad you agree. Let's. Have. Dinner._

-_tell me your name first._

His phone stayed silent for two weeks.

**Thursday, 4pm**  
-_You're very stubborn. I like that in a celestial being. Let's have dinner._

-_we coudl have pizza._

This time the silence lasted nearly a month.

**Monday, 2:23pm**  
-_Did I ever tell you how much I love that coat? Let's have dinner and talk about it._

-_I was getting worried._

-_No need to worry about me. I'm a fighter._

-_I know._

He stared at the screen a long time before typing his next thought:

-_I should have looked for you._

Nothing for so long that he thought she'd gone away again. He was about to give up when he heard the soft _ping_.

-_Should have, would have, could have. Water under the bridge. Let's have dinner._

-_what is your obsession with dinner?_

-_I like to eat._

For some reason he could picture her saying that, the way her droll mouth would form the words, her lips shaping them, her eyes sparkling as they rolled off her tongue. He stashed his phone and struggled to swallow the wave of hunger that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him.

Maybe dinner wasn't such a bad idea after all. He pulled the phone out again and struggled with what he wanted to say next.

-_I miss…this. you. you're a challenge._

-_Of course I am. It's part of why you're so sweet on me, whether you know it or not. Now. Enough foreplay. Let's have dinner._

He hesitated. Smiled a little as the sound of her voice echoed inside his head.

-_yes, ok. let's._

Nothing.

**Friday, 5:16pm**  
-_dinner?_

It was the first time he'd ever initiated a conversation, and he wasn't sure if it violated some sort of protocol, but he did it anyway.

And he waited.

And waited.

**Sunday, 12:02pm**  
-_are you there?_

**Tuesday, 6:45am**  
-_we could have dinner for breaksfst if you're hungry now._

**Friday, 3pm**  
-_is this some form of fliratation?_

**Monday, 8:31pm  
**-_Meg?_

-_Meg?_

Silence was his only answer, vast and empty and echoing.

* * *

When he finally met up with the Winchesters again, sometime in early May, they told him what had happened that night after he'd disappeared with the tablet. Meg was dead. Crowley had killed her. They'd watched the whole thing.

He was furious that they hadn't tried to help her, and they both tried to make excuses. The moment. The fear. The overwhelming need to get as far away from that damn crypt as fast as possible.

He understood, but still.

But still.

Now he sat alone in a dirty motel room and stared down at his phone. He still had the old messages from her—he knew they were from her, even though that was technically impossible—and occasionally he read over them. Mostly he waited.

**A Wednesday in December, ****9:02pm**

-_Our movie's on. I think I'm in the mood for pizza. Let's have dinner._


End file.
